If I Should Die Before I Wake
by CrystallineMaple
Summary: Twenty-four strangers from different countries are invited on a luxurious vacation. However, once they enter the vacation estate, they find they are unable to leave. It can't get any worse - until people begin to die one by one. What's happening? Who will get out alive? And most importantly, who is the killer? Multiple pairings.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I've never really written a story like this - what with murder and all - so go easy on me. There will be a lot of characters, though, but don't worry - it should be pretty easy to keep up, even with a few plot lines running simultaneously. With that said, please enjoy chapter one!

* * *

><p>"Mr. Kirkland, there's something here for you."<p>

Arthur Kirkland straightened his posture and allowed his assistant to enter the room. "Oh? What is it?"

"It's a letter, sir. For a free vacation!"

Renowned author Mr. Kirkland took a sip of his Earl Grey Tea. "Those things are fake, dear. I don't think I'd get a free vacation. Besides, I'm too busy to go."

The assistant frowned, tapping her French manicured nails on her boss' desk. "But, sir, I checked out this so-called resort - it's definitely real. Very exclusive, very expensive. But they've invited you. According to this letter, they've selected twenty-four random, hardworking people for a 'refreshment cycle.' All free, sir."

"And when, may I ask, is this?" Mr. Kirkland raised a rather large eyebrow questioningly.

"Oh, you'd have to pack your bags tonight, sir. This vacation begins tomorrow and is a week - here's the address. I do think it'd suit you to go!"

Arthur leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "We'll see..."

* * *

><p>"You're sure this is the place?"<p>

"When am I ever wrong?"

Two men stepped out of a BMW, handing their keys to a valet. The taller one was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and stern looking, the shorter one had even lighter hair and ruby-colored eyes that tended to scare the living daylights out of most adults. Both were exceedingly handsome.

"It looks a little fancy," the blond remarked, though he slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the shorter man. They had received a letter in the mail, summoning them to a weeklong free vacation. Though why in the world - some refreshment cycle? Please.

"Ludwig," the shorter man called, eyeing the sweeping mansion where everyone was to stay. "Quit daydreaming!"

Ludwig shook his head. "Yes, yes, coming, Gilbert."

The door was very tall, arching into the sky, and with great difficulty, Gilbert and Ludwig managed to pull it open. The thing was way heavier than it looked. And it looked pretty heavy.

A young, smiling receptionist with a mane of flowing black hair stood at the counter. "Hello! Part of the refreshment cycle, I assume?"

"Yes," Gilbert said. "Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt."

The receptionist smiled. "Oh, the German Brothers, no?"

"Sorry, ma'am - I hope you don't mind my asking, but what exactly is the refreshment cycle?" Ludwig asked. "He snatched the paper away before I could read it." Ludwig threw a pointed glance at his older brother. Gilbert discreetly stuck out his tongue.

"Not at all!" the receptionist exclaimed, laughing. "The owner of this mansion and estate is a very generous man. He selected twenty-four people - some famous, some not - who are all hardworking and intelligent. These people - you are one of them - will be staying here for a week in full comfort and relaxation. You all are known as the refreshment cycle."

Ludwig nodded, though the situation still seemed a bit odd to him. "I see. So, is-" Ludwig broke off when the door was slowly and laboriously pushed open, and another person, carrying a messenger bag and a small rolling suitcase, stepped into the entryway.

"Simply put," the receptionist said to Ludwig before addressing the newcomer, "this mansion is paradise for everyone - but watch your step. Oh, hello, ma'am! Can I help you?"

The newcomer didn't smile. "Arlovskaya," she said.

The receptionist grinned from ear to ear. "Miss Arlovskaya? You're incredible! I'm a fan."

A tiny smile graced Miss Arlovskaya's lips, who didn't appear older than twenty. "Yes, thank you very much."

"Who are you?" Gilbert asked. Ludwig frowned. "Be polite!"

Miss Arlovskaya turned to face Gilbert, her dark, piercing eyes glaring at him. "My name's Natalia Arlovskaya."

Gilbert nodded. "Right. Of course."

Natalia frowned. "Are you mocking me, sir?"

Gilbert snickered. "Should I know you, _Miss Arlovskaya?" _

"Oh, oh!" the receptionist seemed joyous. "Mr. Beilschmidt, you haven't heard of Miss Arlovskaya? She was one of the representatives for Belarus in the Winter Olympics."

"Ah, an Olympian, huh?" Gilbert said, though at least his voice was filled with admiration. "What sport?"

"Figure skating," Natalia replied sharply. "Now, ma'am, where is my room?"

"Of course, Miss Arlovskaya. This way..." Natalia and the receptionist disappeared down one of the many hallways branching off the entryway.

"This place is huge!" Gilbert exclaimed. The entry hallway alone was extremely extravagant - high ceilings, sparkling walls, glittering chandelier. Gilbert begin walking down a hallway, trying to find his assigned room, and dragged Ludwig along by the wrist. Ludwig followed, but felt somewhat unsettled - what had the receptionist meant, exactly? 'Watch your step?' Maybe there were a lot of stairs. Maybe...

"Ludwig! For God's sake, you've gotta learn how to stop zoning out every five seconds."

"I want to go home," Ludwig said quietly, though there was no one in earshot.

"Home?" Gilbert exclaimed. "But, Ludwig - I mean - come on, stay for a day. Let's see how it goes. Please. A day! We never get free vacations!"

"Alright, alright," Ludwig relented, holding up a hand. "A day. I'll see how it goes. But if something bad happens..."

"Yeah. Hey, look!" Gilbert pointed at a map of the mansion mounted on the wall. "Look, there's a café in here - c'mon, it'll be awesome. Let's go!"

When Ludwig and Gilbert finally found their way to the mansion's café, two people were sitting in there, sipping coffee but sitting on opposite sides of the room. A young man with dirty-blond hair and a cowlick sat in one corner, and Gilbert immediately ran over to him. The kid loudly introduced himself as Alfred Jones, and the two began chatting animatedly. Ludwig took a look at the other person.

A man with darker hair who appeared to be in his mid-twenties was the other conversational option. Ludwig walked over to the quieter man.

"Hello, my name's Ludwig Beilschmidt."

The man looked up from his newspaper, startled. "Oh. Oh - pleasure. I'm Roderich Edelstein. Want to sit?"

Ludwig pulled a chair out from the table. "Where'd you get the coffee? I don't see any workers in here."

Roderich snorted. "I made it myself - there's some stuff over there. This is a very bizarre place, Mr. Beilschmidt. The only workers here appear to be the valet I dropped my car off with and the receptionist in the entryway. There's no one else here, besides the other people in the refreshment cycle. Which you are in, yes?"

"Yes. How odd."

"That's your friend over there?" Roderich asked, motioning politely at Gilbert.

Ludwig sighed. "No, that's my brother."

"Hmm. How old is he?"

"Twenty-four," Ludwig replied, sighing again.

Roderich looked amused. "So am I. And you, Mr. Beilschmidt? May I ask your age?"

Ludwig paused awkwardly. "Err, I'm eighteen."

Roderich's eyes widened. "Surely not. You're very mature. You are eighteen, yet you chose to speak to a twenty-four year-old. Your brother is twenty-four, yet he chose to speak to an eighteen year-old. Strange."

"You've spoken to that other guy?"

"Alfred? Yes. Eighteen. Last year in high school. Very loud, very annoying! He gave me a headache." Roderich punctuated his comments by tapping his hand against the table in frustration. His coffee cup rattled precariously.

"Mr. Edelstein?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you speak German?"

Roderich smiled. "Have all my life, Mr. Beilschmidt. Now, why don't we meet some of these people in the refreshment cycle?"

Ludwig stood up, misgivings gone. "Yes, let's go."

The two waited in the entry hall with the receptionist and became acquainted with the next few people to walk through the door - a photographer named Mathias Køhler; a doctor named Ivan Braginsky; an author named Arthur Kirkland.

Though the sprawling estate was grand in every possible way, Ludwig felt further unsettled when there appeared to be no one else in the mansion besides him and the other twenty-three guests. The receptionist and the valet were gone.

But Ludwig ignored his thoughts when a voice came from the small speakers mounted in every room and announced it was time for dinner.


	2. Chapter 2

It was raining outside.

Not a gentle drizzle. A torrent, complete with occasional flashes of lightning and rumbling thunder.

Kiku Honda walked down a brightly lit hallway with red carpet, following instructions from a map - seriously, the mansion was big enough to need a _map _- until the twenty-two year old mangaka found his way to a large pair of tall oak doors, nearly as big as the giant entryway ones. From the delicious smells coming from the door, Kiku could tell it was the dining room.

The Japanese man pushed one door open and - _wow._

One long table sat in the middle of the room, tiny namecards waiting at each seat, twenty-four in total. A giant, sparkling chandelier hung from the ceiling, radiating dazzling brightness. Even though the sky outside was dark, the mansion was so well-lit that Kiku had to squint slightly. Two small indoor fountains bordered the oak doors, one on each side. Despite the excess of light, beautiful candlesticks with lit candles sat on the table.

The food was waiting. About five guests had already shown up, and as Kiku Honda wandered around the table to find his marked seat, he took note of the names on the place cards. Kiku was slightly surprised by the names. Only one or two of the names on the cards seemed American. And they were, after all, in America.

Kiku found his seat. Someone was already sitting next to him. Kiku glanced at the card: Mei Xiao. She was very pretty.

"Hello, my name is Kiku Honda," Kiku offered. She put down her fork and smiled. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Honda. I'm Mei Xiao."

"Wonderful to make your acquaintance, Miss Xiao. How are you enjoying this vacation so far?"

She laughed - a clear, pure sound. "Well, it's free. It seems a bit much for me, though. I'm a rather simple girl. I don't normally like too many luxuries."

"I understand. What do you do for a living?"

"Well, I'm eighteen - I'm still in school. But I'm homeschooled because I play the violin."

Kiku titled his head questioningly.

"I mean, I perform a lot and such..."

"Very talented!" Kiku exclaimed, reaching for a pitcher of green tea and pouring himself a glass.

"But," Mei inquired, "what about yourself, Mr. Honda? What do you do?"

"Ah, I draw manga. I feel silly compared to you, though."

Mei widened her eyes. "No, no, don't at all! You make art - that's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Thank you, Miss Xiao. Have you met anyone else here?" Kiku asked, trying to change the subject. Mei helped him by saying, "Yes, I spoke to a college student named Lukas Bondevik, and an older man - a lawyer - Mr. Oxenstierna, I believe? Kind of scary, though I won't judge. Swedish man."

"People here seem... kind," Kiku said conversationally, watching as the door opened and another person walked in, eyebrows raised as she took in the view. She found her seat further down the table at the spot marked 'Elizaveta Héderváry.'

"I wonder why we were called here," Mei remarked. "And this food - delicious. Who made it?"

"Thank you, ma chérie. I did," came a voice from behind the two Asians. Mei and Kiku turned to see an attractive blond man with a French accent. He held out his hand. Kiku shook it, and the man kissed Mei's cheek. Mei and Kiku introduced themselves.

"I'm Francis Bonnefoy. It seems I am the chef," the Frenchman said in response.

"Oh. Oh, you work here?" Mei asked.

Francis paused for a second. "No. But I am part of a refreshment cycle, I heard, and they told me I could come here for free, so long as I cook for everyone. It's a good deal, and they supplied all the things I need to make anything I'd like. Cooking is my job, after all. What about you two? I don't believe I've spoken to either of you yet. I did see your names on the list, though."

"What list?" Kiku asked.

"In the second-floor lounge, there is this big piece of framed paper on the wall. It has everyone's names."

"Really! Could you show me after dinner?" Mei asked.

"Oui, of course, Miss Xiao."

* * *

><p>There was indeed a big framed poster in the lounge, listing name after name. Twenty-four names, to be exact.<p>

Kiku cleared his throat and began to read the names out loud to Francis and Mei.

"Natalia Arlovskaya, Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ludwig Beilschmidt, Eduard von Bock, Lukas Bondevik, Francis Bonnefoy, Ivan Braginsky, Katyusha Braginskaya, Roderich Edelstein, Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo, Raivis Galante, Elizaveta Héderváry, Kiku Honda, Alfred Jones, Arthur Kirkland, Mathias Køhler, Toris Laurinaitis, Michelle Mancham, Berwald Oxenstierna, Im Yong Soo, Feliciano Vargas, Lovino Vargas, Yao Wang, Mei Xiao."

Kiku frowned as he read. Were there really only twenty-four people in the giant mansion, big enough to fit five times the number of people currently in it?

What had happened to the valet? To the receptionist?

Francis struck a match from the silver box that had been sitting on the mantelpiece, starting a fire in the giant fireplace.

Kiku felt uncomfortable. "Please excuse me. I'm retiring for the night."

With that, the Japanese man turned and left quietly, his shoes soundless on the soft, plush carpet. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him...

* * *

><p>A bit of Kiku's fears were alleviated when he saw the receptionist the next morning during breakfast, helping Francis pass out food and serving people with a pleasant smile. Kiku, slouching in relief, walked right up to her.<p>

"Excuse me, I didn't catch your name yesterday."

She smiled. "You may call me Travail, dear. I'm here to take care of the estate and make sure you all are comfortable."

_Travail, huh? Isn't that French? You look like me... you look Asian... but then again, you might not have grown up in Asia. I shouldn't stereotype, _Kiku thought.

"Did you leave the mansion grounds last night?" he asked instead.

Travail looked surprised. "I did, Mr. Honda. I do not sleep here. Nor does the valet. I am not sure where he is, though..." Travail frowned, then turned to call to someone else. "Oh, Miss Braginskaya, would you care for some more toast?"

The oak doors of the dining hall opened once again, and two men walked in. Both had olive-colored skin and shades of brown hair, and though they were speaking another language - Italian, probably - Kiku could tell that one of the brothers was still marveling over the grandeur of the giant, bright hall; and the other was complaining.

Travail, who had been busy serving Miss Braginskaya breakfast, froze. "Please excuse me," the dark-haired lady said quickly, setting down a tray that held several servings of yogurt and fruit. Then she hurried out of the dining hall, muttering quietly to herself, her obsidian-colored eyes wide in surprise.


	3. Chapter 3

Breakfast was delicious, naturally - servings of granola-and-yogurt parfaits, bacon, waffles, spreads of fruit - but Lukas Bondevik still felt unsettled. He'd spoken with some pleasant people the day before. A nice girl, Elizaveta, was it? And two German guys, Mr. Beilschmidt and Mr. Edelstein, or something like that. But still.

The college student turned to the man sitting to his right. Mathias, right?

"Mr. Køhler?" Lukas asked in his monotonous voice. He _hated _his voice. Mathias looked up from the waffles he was sawing in half with his knife. "Yeah?"

"I'm thinking of taking a walk after breakfast, would it bother you terribly to accompany me?" Despite Lukas' dull tone, his eyes glittered with intelligence, and adults had always praised him for his polite nature.

"Okay, sure. Just let me finish these." Mathias used his fork to point at his plate, which was swimming in maple syrup. Lukas nodded and poked around at his scrambled eggs, appetite gone.

In a matter of minutes, Mathias finished his entire breakfast and stood up. "Ready to go, Mr. Bondevik?"

The smiley Ukrainian woman skipped up to them, grinning. "Are you two going for a walk? May I join you?"

"Of course, Miss Braginskaya," Mathias said cordially. It was clear the two had already met.

"I'm Lukas Bondevik," Lukas said. "It's nice to meet you."

"Hello, dear. I'm Katyusha Braginskaya."

The three acquaintances navigated their way to the entryway, pushing open the heavy front doors with excruciating effort. The heavy rain from the previous night had stopped, but the sky was overcast, and mist curled up from the lush, green grass, giving the world the appearance of a darkening dream.

"Kind of chilly, isn't it?" Mathias commented. "Why don't we walk along the road?"

The road - Lukas flinched, remembering driving in. He had been driving on regular asphalt road when he reached a small wooden bridge that spanned a wide, rushing river. The bridge had been sturdy, but the second he crossed it and found himself on land again, the road turned into a path of interwoven bricks, giving it a beautiful appearance but making it rather unpleasant to drive on. Still, walking on it was fine, and Lukas found himself thoroughly enjoying the way the bricks looked.

After a few minutes of walking, Lukas and the others could hear the loud, unmistakable noise of water rushing. The river.

"There's a big river bordering the estate property, no?" Katyusha asked, and Mathias nodded in agreement.

Another bit of walking revealed the river - very wide and very fast-moving. Trying to swim in that would probably get you swept away and killed. It was the only exit, since Lukas had noticed when driving in that the river surrounded the mansion estate on all sides - it was a property built on a little island of grassy land. Which was a bad thing now, because the tiny bridge that connected the asphalt and brick roads - _that connected the estate to the outside world_ - was gone.

It was impossible to leave.

* * *

><p>"Morning, Mr. Laurinaitis - did you have a nice rest?"<p>

"I did. Oh, more coffee?"

"Yes, thanks."

Toris Laurinaitis and Eduard von Bock had met the previous day during the evening meal, and Toris found that Eduard was pleasant and vice versa.

"This parfait's good."

"Is it? Try the bacon, too - it's excellent-" Toris was in the middle of handing Eduard a plate of bacon and sliced ham when the dining hall doors burst open.

Eduard raised his eyebrow. "What's going on?"

"Excuse me, everyone! My name is Katyusha Braginskaya, and I was walking with Mr. Bondevik and Mr. Køhler, and we found... that is to say..."

"The bridge to the main road is gone," Lukas clarified. "Burned down without a second thought. So let me tell you all - we can't go anywhere now. That was our only exit."

Confused murmurs spread through the hall, filling the room, echoing strangely because of the high ceiling.

"Who'd burn it down?" Michelle Mancham asked. "What are we going to do?"

"Wait, wait." Arthur Kirkland stood up. "How do you three know the bridge was burned down? Maybe it collapsed."

"No," Lukas replied coldly. "The grass where both ends of the bridge would have been is charred and black, and it kind of smells like gasoline. If you'd like to see it yourself, go ahead, but-"

The author narrowed his emerald-green eyes. "I think I will," he said deliberately. "Please excuse me." He exited the dining hall, muttering to himself.

* * *

><p>"Hey! You work here, right?"<p>

"Oh. Mr. Jones." Travail nodded and walked over to the American teen, who was sitting in the second-floor lounge, the one with the framed list of names. "I do. My name's Travail."

"Okay, Ms. Travail, do you know what happened to the bridge?"

"No, I am sorry. It is confusing, isn't it? But why are you in here?"

"Oh... is this off-limits?" Alfred asked. "Sorry."

"Of course not. Make yourself at home! It's just that most of the guests went to the edge of the property to check out the missing bridge - but you are not one of them?"

"Nope," Alfred replied. "I believe Mr. Bondevik. Anyway, how are we going to get out of here?"

"The estate owner should send us help..."

Alfred nodded slowly. "Mmhmm. And where's the valet? Where's my car?"

Travail's cheeks reddened. "I - I do not know, because he didn't park the cars on the property, so it's impossible to reach them. For the time being, at least. I'm sorry."

"Ms. Travail, I'm hungry. Can you show me where the kitchen is?"

Travail jumped. "Of course, Mr. Jones. Shall I make you something?"

Alfred shook his head. "Oh, no! That's not necessary."

"Then I'll direct you to the kitchen. This way, please..."

* * *

><p>"It really was burned," Arthur said in wonder.<p>

Lukas frowned. "I told you."

Many of the guests had followed Lukas back out to the burned bridge - which was, in fact, gone, with the acrid scent of gasoline hanging in the crisp air.

"Don't be rude," Katyusha scolded gently. "We're all under stress. But that receptionist - Travail, I believe - said the estate owner was going to send help?"

Mei cried out in surprise. "But that could take a long time!"

"Oh, don't worry, dear," Katyusha said warmly, resting a hand on the violinist's shoulder. "We'll be fine. After all, our living conditions are more than luxurious, and we've got plenty of supplies to last us - is that correct, Mr. Bonnefoy?"

Francis looked up from the withered grass. "Certainly, mademoiselle. We've enough food to last weeks. Months, even."

"With twenty-four people?" Mei asked skeptically.

Francis nodded. "I assure you, Miss Xiao, you will not be going hungry anytime soon."

Gilbert stretched. "Yeah, it'll be fine. We'll get help in two, three days at most."

Despite Francis' brave comments, he still looked uneasy. "I suppose I should start preparing lunch," he ventured. "I'll be in the kitchen. Excuse me."

"If only we had cell service," Gilbert sighed.

Mei's eyes widened. "Huh? Your phone doesn't work?"

Gilbert shook his head. "Not a single bar. What, yours does?"

"I don't know - mine's charging in my room."

"This isn't so much a refreshment cycle as a stress cycle," Roderich Edelstein complained, zipping up his jacket. "I'm retiring to the List Lounge for the morning. Please summon me when lunch is ready."

"What a sissy!" Gilbert snorted when the Austrian man was out of earshot. "What's the List Lounge anyway?"

"Be polite," Ludwig snapped. "The List Lounge is the second-story lounge - with the name list."

The two brothers had a quick conversation in German, then Ludwig said, "Excuse us, too. We'll be returning to the mansion. Please let us know if you find anything."

"What a respectful kid," Ivan Braginsky commented. "How'd someone like him end up with a brother like so?"

"Dr. Braginksy," Arthur said. "As a doctor, I trust that you understand that blood is not everything?"

Ivan looked down at the brick road, embarrassed. "Kindly refrain."

Soon, everyone had returned to the mansion. Everyone except for Katyusha and Mei.

"Miss Braginskaya," Mei said, "what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a teacher, dear. I cannot believe I, in this lifetime, have a chance to meet you. Amazing. The refreshment cycle letter said it would be a mix of famous and non-famous people, but I wasn't expecting someone like you. And Mr. Kirkland. It's a lot to take in."

Mei stared out at the rushing river. "You know me?"

Katyusha chuckled. "Of course I do, Mei. I'm a big fan of yours. Sometimes I play your CD during class. Students love it. I actually went and saw a concert of yours once."

Mei smiled. "Miss Braginskaya?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you... do you think the bridge was burned down on purpose?" Mei's dark eyes didn't stray from the river.

"I'm sorry, Mei. I do not know." Katyusha sighed. "I simply do not know."


	4. Chapter 4

The gloomy morning was mostly uneventful after that. No one wanted to leave the mansion, but there was a common room on the third floor that had a giant flatscreen and a box of movies. The younger girls - Natalia, Elizaveta, and Mei - hunkered down on one of the dark leather couches with a bowl of popcorn. Katyusha and Michelle Mancham, a bombshell twenty-four year old fashion designer, sat by the room's fireplace and talked quietly, so as not to disturb the teenagers.

Katyusha's motherly instincts took over. "Girls, do you want me to bring you some drinks from downstairs?"

"Water, please," Elizaveta said, her eyes still on the screen.

Natalia nodded. "Two waters."

"I'll have a bit of coffee - I think Lukas made some," Mei added.

Michelle smiled nostalgically. "Oh, to be young again..."

Katyusha laughed quietly, moving away from the warm fire. "What are you talking about? You're plenty young."

"I guess," Michelle replied. "Anyway, I do think lunch should be ready soon, right? But, ugh - I hope this rain passes soon. It's so dark outside."

"I'm going to get drinks," Katyusha said. "Do you want anything, Miss Mancham?"

"If Mei was right, and there is any coffee, I'll take some, please."

Katyusha made her way down to the first floor. A few people were playing cards in the List Lounge, and Roderich, Ludwig, and Gilbert were sitting in another room on the second story, reading and solving a puzzle. Though Michelle had complained about the weather, Katyusha found the steady drum of the rain comforting.

When Katyusha came into the majestic Dining Hall, which had a door leading to the kitchen, she found Francis and another man sitting at the long table, talking.

"What's going on?" the Ukrainian woman questioned, stepping into the room. Her feet sank into the plush Turkish carpet, and she wondered how rich the owner of the mansion must've been.

Francis looked up. "Oh. Miss Braginskaya. Have you met Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo yet?"

"No. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Katyusha. Now, what's the matter? Why do you look so upset?"

"Ah, um, we found-" Francis broke off, his sentence unfinished sentence hanging in the air.

"Blood," Antonio whispered. His green eyes were wide in fear and confusion.

Katyusha froze. "Blood? Where?"

"In the kitchen," Francis said, his voice trembling. "I went in to start making lunch after looking at the bridge. There was blood all over the floor - _everywhere_ - and one of the kitchen knives is missing. Something terrible has happened."

"But... isn't everyone still here?" Katyusha felt numb. "Isn't that true?"

Antonio lowered his eyes. "Miss Braginskaya, Travail is gone."

* * *

><p>"And... I win." Lukas slapped his hand of cards down on the table. "Another round?"<p>

"Ugh," Mathias complained, collapsing. "You always win, Bondevik. I give up. I suck."

A thin smile appeared on Berwald Oxenstierna's lips. "First rule, Mr. Køhler - never admit you are wrong."

"Easy for you to say, you attorney," Mathias grumbled. "Fine, one more round. But I swear, if you-"

"Hey!"

Lukas, Mathias, and Berwald snapped their attention from the cards to the doorway of the List Lounge, where Eduard von Bock was standing.

"What's wrong?" Mathias asked, standing up and turning his phone off. He had hooked it up to a dock, and it had been playing his music for some background noise.

"Franics Bonnefoy wants everyone downstairs in the Dining Hall _now. _No exceptions."

"Bonnefoy... the cook, right?" Berwald asked, adjusting his glasses and gathering his cards back into a stack. "What does he want?"

Eduard shook his head. "Please, just go downstairs. I'm sorry."

The three Scandinavians exchanged unanimous puzzled looks and headed to the staircase, their card game forgotten.

* * *

><p>Within fifteen minutes, everyone was in the Dining Hall, sitting at their marked seats and chatting quietly. Everyone was present. Every seat was filled.<p>

But there was no Travail.

Francis stood up, waving his hand for silence. "_Excusez-moi!_ Um, fellow members of the refreshment cycle. I have news."

The cavernous room quieted considerably, and alert eyes met Francis'.

"After I saw the bridge, I came inside to start working on lunch," Francis began, taking a deep breath. "I can see that you are all here. But the receptionist, Travail, is not. I believe she was murdered. When I came to the kitchen, there was blood on the floor, the walls, the counters. A kitchen knife is missing. That is all."

Murmurs spread through the crowd, terrified and upset.

Arthur raised a hand. "If I may speak? I'm no detective. I'm an author. But I do believe that, when we all went to look at the bridge, one person stayed behind." Arthur's emerald-colored eyes scanned the room. "Mr. Jones stayed in the kitchen. Wouldn't that be around the time...?"

Alfred jumped up from his chair. "Bullshit! I didn't murder anyone. I just went to get a snack! I'm sorry, I didn't realize eating was a federal crime!"

"Now, now," Francis said. "Please, let's calm down."

Berwald stood up. "Mr. Jones. Did you use the kitchen knife while you were in there?"

"Ja, Berwald, cross-examine the hell out of this situation," Mathias called.

"No," Alfred said. "I ate an apple."

"And why did you eat?" Berwald pressed.

"I was hungry."

"Right after breakfast?"

"Mr. Oxenstierna," Ivan interrupted. "I am well aware that you are a respectable and extremely qualified attorney-at-law. But Alfred Jones is a teenager, and as I'm sure even you know, teenagers must eat constantly due to growth spurts and changes."

Berwald sat back down. "We are trying to get information, Dr. Braginsky. No one is accusing Alfred."

"Well, Mr. Kirkland is," Alfred interjected angrily.

"If there is a murderer among us," Mei said shakily, "we need to know who it is."

"We don't even know for sure that Travail was murdered," Ivan added. "She doesn't stay at the mansion over night."

"But there's no way she could have left," Berwald argued. "The bridge is gone."

"Maybe _she_ burned it down!" Katyusha exclaimed.

Alfred shook his head, his dark blond hair ruffling out of place. "That isn't possible. After everyone went to the bridge, I asked Ms. Travail to show me to the kitchen. She was still on the estate."

A clap of thunder shook the sky, and the lights flickered out. The candles on the table weren't lit, and without the light from the chandelier or the sun, the room was dark and shadowy, a drastic contrast from how bright it had been moments ago. The sound of rain intensified as a storm moved by overhead, and the room was silent with dread.

Natalia stood up. "I am going to my room."

"Lunch?" Francis asked nervously, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

"No." Natalia stood up, flipped her hair over her shoulder with artistic elegance, and walked out of the Dining Hall. Her steps were the quiet, graceful tread of a true figure skater. Despite her cool beauty, Natalia would be a formidable enemy.

The Belarusian teen made her way down the hallway until she came to the entry room, and without electricity, it wasn't so blinding. It was kind of eerie, actually.

Natalia paused. There was something on the ground, something next to the outline a big crate, and a strange smell - flowers? - enveloped the space. Natalia stepped closer, squinting through the dark, and then jerked back in alarm.

She couldn't help it. She was strong. She had to train seven hours a day. But that didn't keep her entire breakfast from coming up and spilling onto the floor. Natalia screamed hysterically and moved back until she hit the wall. She heard footsteps. The others would be there in seconds.

"No... no... no, no, no," Natalia cried over and over, resting her head between her knees. She was terrified and disgusted.

Next to the large crate, wearing a crown of blood red roses, was Travail's dead body.


End file.
